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Surprise! I've been freelancing for a year this week, which means this Tinyletter is just slightly older than that-- I sent the first edition to 57 people on April 26, 2016. I've sent 34 more since then-- one every other week, on average. This is the one I remember getting the most response to, though things about writing and anxiety pretty much always do well in this crowd. (Who is surprised.)
Anyway, I'm writing infinity personal essays right now in the gear up for GRACE coming out on May 16th, and I'm feeling very tired and strange and, honestly, very very worried about money, not in a rent-and-groceries way, thank god, but in a what the fuck kind of future am I building for myself way-- in an, I am tired of worrying about money all of the time way. This shit does not pay well, you guys. Recently I was at this sort of hilariously swank party, a fundraiser for the JCC where I used to work, and someone seriously referred to me as "being very fancy now" because of the New York Times thing and like, yes, and also, I got paid $150 for that piece.
Maybe that sounds like a lot of money to you? In some ways it is a lot of money, in that three times the $50 I got paid for this, but like, imagine how many $150 pieces you have to pitch to an editor, hope they accept, and then write, edit and promote to make even my very cheap (for LA) rent. (Also: fucking taxes.) (I mean there are a lot of outlets that pay me more; this was sort of an exception. But usually not alllll that much more.)
I'm not telling you anything you don't know: freelancing is a privilege, and freelancing is a pain. Freelancing is fucking terrifying on every imaginable level, and I mostly feel grateful that I get to do it in the first place. Freelancing is gig economy shit, and it's bad for me and it's bad for diversity in publishing, and I don't know what to do about it, in part because I keep being like, well, once I know I can make rent like three months in a row then I will figure out a better system, but for now, I'm trying to keep my own damn head above water. Which is precisely how shit like this never ends up changing, so. Ugh, basically. Ugh.
Maybe you're an underpaid freelancer too, or maybe you're striking today, or maybe you're just like, bitch, until you start worrying about rent and groceries I am not gonna worry about you, and if any of those things are true, honestly god bless and stop reading right here. But freelancing has taught me one valuable skill: to ask for stuff, even though I still hate it. To continually evaluate what my time and energy and skill and self are worth, and then ask that people compensate me accordingly.
I've sent you thousands of words for free in the last year, and I have worried extensively over all of them. They were work! And I would ask that you pay me a little bit-- I really mean $5, $10 if you just got a promotion-- in recognition of that fact. You can Paypal me at zanopticon@gmail.com, where you can also always send me a note or a thought or a whatever, if you want to. I really appreciate you reading this. There is significant value in that for me too.